Lost in Translation

 

Sofia Coppola with her famous Dad, Francis Ford Coppola

Writer/director Sofia Coppola

Coppola on the set with Scarlett Johansson

Coppola and Johansson

Coppola on the set with Bill Murray

LOST IN TRANSLATION          A-                                                                                           USA  Japan  (102 mi)  2002  d: Sofia Coppola

I spent a lot of time in Tokyo in my twenties and I really wanted to make a film around my experience of just being there.  That was the starting point.  I got married not long before and kind of felt isolated.  I was in this stage where I wasn’t sure if I’d made the right choices or what I was doing in the post-college beginning of my adult life.                                  —Writer/director Sofia Coppola in Simon Brand interview from Little White Lies, August 26, 2018, Sofia Coppola on Lost in Translation at 15 

Listed at #1 on the 2003 year-end Village Voice Film Poll and Best Movies of 2003 | Film Comment's 2003 Critics' Poll, becoming a huge commercial success, where a $4 million dollar movie earned nearly $120 million dollars, yet this is the movie that drew attention to female directors.  Yes, Sofia Coppola is the daughter of celebrated director Francis Ford Coppola, so she has a leg up on everybody else, but nonetheless, this drew plenty of critical praise, drawing attention to what was uniquely different about her style and that of her infamous father, who served as an executive producer of the film.  While this didn’t start a feminist revolution in the industry, it was among the first times that a woman’s film was taken seriously, provoking different reactions from men and women, pitting mainstream Hollywood versus independent, feminism and auterism, in many ways altering our view in how we evaluate motion pictures.  Even critics who appreciated the film also derided Coppola for displaying a lack of depth, expressing a mindset that she was simply handed the reins, along with boatloads of money, from her more distinguished father in order to make the films she wanted, as many seemed obsessed with her status as the daughter of a major American filmmaker, given special privilege and offered opportunities other women lacked, all of which suggests a cinema of self-indulgence.  When French New Wave directors, almost exclusively male, rejected the traditional cinema of old and injected a more personal flair into their movies, it was met with a euphoric wave of approval, where the term “liberating” suggested a generational passing of the torch.  Sofia Coppola’s films, on the other hand, while not explicitly feminist, lay a foundation for an alternate path that repositions the male aesthetic into a cinema that at the very least expresses an awareness of female concerns, more interested in exploring a rich, interior life, drawing heavily from her own personal experiences, while at the same time engaging in an adversarial position from the traditional Hollywood model.  While Coppola’s privileged position in Hollywood does set her apart from other women filmmakers, her films embody a post-feminist culture that empowers women in radically different ways, providing the perspective of a young, female protagonist, often without voice in their environment, serving as a prolonged exploration into the way they are objectified, idealized, and defined by their surrounding society, and then subverts those expectations by introducing a different style and texture to the film itself, where the style actually becomes the substance, offering a challenging new way to view and interpret what we’re seeing onscreen, though in many ways it resembles a European arthouse sensibility.  For instance, the opening shot of the film is a prolonged take of a transparently pink, panty-clad rear end lying on a hotel bed facing away from the audience, Lost In Translation - Opening Scene - YouTube (2:11), with Charlotte, Scarlett Johansson, only 17 at the time, first appearing in the Coen brother’s THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE (2001) and Terry Zwigoff’s Ghost World (2001), typically viewed as an object of desire from the male gaze, much like the obligatory shot of Brigitte Bardot’s naked backside in Godard’s Contempt (Le Mépris) (1963), yet as the camera lingers, viewers become a participant in the changing experience.  Charlotte is often seen lounging around the hotel room in various states of undress, wearing just a T-shirt and panties, curled up against a windowpane, staring out a hotel window in an aerial view from an upper floor of the far-reaching panoramic landscape of the city below, with the camera looking over her shoulder, asking viewers to gaze along with her, not at her, far more interested in conveying her personalized experience, LOST IN TRANSLATION - I'll be at the Bar YouTube (1:42).

Coppola claimed she had Johansson in mind ever since seeing Lisa Krueger’s girls-on-the-run movie, MANNY AND LO (1996), narrated by Johansson, “She was like 12 years old and I just loved her.  She had that husky voice even then and seemed mature beyond her years.  There was some quality about her that stood out and I connected with.  She’s able to convey a lot without saying anything.  I had a feeling about her.  I wasn’t surprised she went on to do lots of different things after but I’m surprised when I look back at how young she was.  She was only 17.”  The jet-lagged setting in Tokyo was largely influenced by the director’s own experiences when visiting Japan, having stayed in the luxurious accommodations of the Park Hyatt Tokyo Japan hotel located on the top 14 floors of the 52 story Shinjuku Park Tower building when promoting her first film, THE VIRGIN SUICIDES (1999).  This minimalist film builds on the independent film tradition that emerged out of the 1990’s with the commercial success of the Sundance Film Festival, as well as the introduction of the DVD, which made independent films readily available, allowing film studies to develop courses around a burgeoning film movement set apart from the conventional or mainstream cinema.  Coppola’s Oscar-winning script, unusually short at only seventy pages, (Lost In Translation script), was written with the low-key, deadpan style of comedian Bill Murray in mind, claiming the film would never have been made without him, not only trapped in a foreign country with no safety net, but also caught in the uncertainties of an existential mid-life crisis.  It’s also easy to see the personal connection between the filmmaker and neglected wife Charlotte, a recent Yale philosophy graduate who acknowledges a directionless aspect to her life, disappointed with her attempts at writing and photography, fields Coppola explored before becoming a filmmaker, while Charlotte’s self-involved photographer husband John (Giovanni Ribisi, the narrator in THE VIRGIN SUICIDES), hasn’t a clue what his wife is experiencing, always abandoning her to run off on an all-day and sometimes into-the-night work assignment, resembling Coppola’s husband at the time, film and music-video director Spike Jonze, maker of Being John Malkovich (1999), ADAPTATION (2002), and Her (2013), initially meeting on the set of a Sonic Youth music video, with the couple filing for divorce two months after the release of the film.  With a small film crew in tow, led by cinematographer Lance Acord, who also worked with Spike Jonze, they employed a mobile, guerilla style of shooting, appearing in random locations throughout Tokyo, shooting on the fly, never securing permits, relying upon bystanders on the street as extras, yet this gives the film a documentary style, while also allowing improvisation both in dialogue and in shooting extended wordless sequences to take the place of the sparsely written script, with second-unit footage of the city shot by Coppola’s older brother Roman.  They did encounter unexpected delays from having to translate with those who were hired locally, resulting in some cross-cultural misunderstandings, becoming a key component to the film, exaggerated to comic effect with Bob Harris (Bill Murray) shooting his whisky commercial, an aging film star where the lure of $2 million dollars brings him to Tokyo, yet the lengthy directions aggressively spoken to him in Japanese followed by such a passive and shortly-worded English translation is reduced to skit-like parody, causing confusion and disorientation, where viewers are just as easily confounded.  In an amusing aside, when Francis Ford Coppola was in the Philippines preparing to shoot APOCALYPSE NOW (1979), he discovered that Japanese legend Akira Kurosawa was struggling to finance his next picture, so he and George Lucas agreed to help him out, with Coppola flying to Japan to star in a Suntory whisky commercial with Kurosawa, an event that provided a source of inspiration for this film.   While other films of the era were relying upon a conversion to digital cameras, Coppola bucked the trend and preferred shooting on 35mm, which elevates the color saturation, particularly in night shots, where the neon-lit Tokyo skyline is particularly compelling, enhanced by an otherworldly feel that Tokyo naturally exudes, matched only by the luminous Tokyo sequences in Edward Yang’s Yi Yi: A One and a Two... (2000).  The predominate theme is dislocation, yet the experience of being isolated in such a massive foreign metropolis, cut off from language and any sense of familiarity, allows Coppola to convey that unintelligible feeling purely by mood and atmosphere, where not much ever happens, yet viewers deeply internalize the experience.  

Reminiscent of Lawrence Kasdan’s romantic drama THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST (1988), which delves into the complications of relations, with numerous shifts of tone within a compressed emotional range, these “accidental tourists” are similarly lost amidst a fast-paced, modernist landscape that occasionally borders on the absurd, embellishing what amounts to a “brief encounter.”  Charlotte, in her early 20’s, is just half the age of Bob, yet she’s just beginning to experience the transformative process of growing into herself as an individual, while Bob is inundated by the shifting priorities in the second half of life, where his wife and kids have learned to live without him during his long absences, while he’s forced to re-examine his life in a different context.  Accordingly, during his nighttime arrival in Tokyo, with a bleary-eyed, jet-lagged view of the city from the back of his cab, he’s only semi-consciously awake in the ride to the hotel, yet there’s a surreal moment, like a dream landscape, when he sees a brightly lit billboard containing his own image in a Suntory whisky ad, Lost In Translation: Bill Murray first time in Tokyo (Death in Vegas - Girls) YouTube (1:25).  Both Charlotte and Bob suffer from insomnia at night, leading to late-night visits to the bar, which is how they meet, Lost in Translation (2003) - 'What Are You Doing Here' Clip YouTube (3:11), developing an immediate rapport, as she laughs at all his jokes, and in a sea of culture shock confusion that is enveloping them, they actually have intelligent conversations, where it’s her astutely discerning, grown-up responses to his off-the-cuff remarks that initially attract his interest, both providing effortless and naturalistic performances that are among the best in their entire careers (Murray has indicated this is his personal favorite), where their extraordinary performances really ARE the film.  While he is lost and disoriented in the streets, unable to mix with locals because of language and cultural barriers, inevitably ending up back in his hotel room channel surfing through bizarre local shows, much of this film is seen through the muted yet curious eyes of Charlotte, who has no one else to talk to, much less confide in, as she takes solitary excursions on her own, often overwhelmed by the exotic allure of Japan, with its Zen-like connection to historical antiquity, equally fascinated by the manic obsession with Western culture, amused by the sheer excitement of their fandom.  With both characters fighting to maintain a spirit of independence, refusing to be defined by others, she dons a pink wig, copied by Natalie Portman in CLOSER (2004), as they go on a zany adventure together through the labyrinth of the city, where their memorable choices of karaoke songs are reflective of their inner feelings, Lost in Translation | Scarlett Johansson & Bill Murray's Wild Night in Tokyo YouTube (7:02).  Even her unconventional connection to Bob is not based on attraction or lust, but deeper human connections, both feeling excluded in their marriages, having to look inward for answers, yet getting philosophical about your own life leaves you on the outside looking in, feeling distanced and melancholic, as we mostly experience the city through her eyes.  Bob, and especially Charlotte, are sometimes bored and often confused by the strip clubs, karaoke bars, and Buddhist temples they visit, yet one solitary journey to Kyoto to visit the Nanzen-ji temple becomes an enthralling sequence, a lovely ode to the poetic beauty of Japan, perfectly capturing the transcendent stillness in a wordless cinematic reverie accompanied by an electronic instrumental track from Air, Alone in Kyoto - Lost in Translation (HD) YouTube (2:56).  The film did not play well before Japanese audiences while receiving backlash from critics who claimed it not only stereotyped Japan, but reduced Japanese characters to racist tropes, subject to offensive humor that would not be acceptable today.  While that may be true, it does reflect how visitors to another country bring their own racist values with them, never pretending to provide an accurate view of Japan, but the film is intentionally distorted, hence the title, to reflect a spectator’s skewed conception.  In this regard it shares a distinctly Western gaze into the East with the same incomprehensible fascination as Wim Wenders’ pilgrimage honoring Ozu in Tokyo-Ga (1985), similarly caught up in the mysteries of the surreal landscape, with both films turning into exercises of empathy.

While the limitations of their respective marriages are glaringly exposed, John never seems to have a moment to spare for Catherine, and when he does finally show up he’s too exhausted to stay awake, where his insufferable snoring is a constant reminder of why she can’t sleep.  John seems to respond much more animatedly to the fawning attention from a ditzy blond actress (Anna Faris) they run into at the hotel than he does to her (a veiled reference to actress Cameron Diaz), suggesting their relationship lacks the spontaneity and emotional depth she craves, while Bob’s life is continually interrupted by faxes from his wife Lydia reminding him of banal duties he needs to fulfill when he gets home, who’s birthday he forgot, what child’s recital is coming up, even sending him cabinet specifications and carpet samples that he needs to select for a home project.  He’s inundated by the trivialization of their unhappy phone calls which sound so coldly impersonal (voiced by the film’s costume designer, Nancy Steiner), where the weight of the mundane aspects of marriage have suddenly taken over, leaving him exasperated and wanting to escape.  Charlotte, on the other hand, tries to divert herself from her unhappy marriage by seeking knowledge and comfort in various aspects of Japanese culture, listening to monks chanting in a Buddhist temple, or learning the art of flower arranging, even adding ornamental touches to her hotel room, but discovers the unfathomable divide is too great, and instead is left feeling shallow and empty, where listening to a self-help audio tape offers no relief, with both seemingly stuck at a lonely impasse.  Even if only fleetingly, Bob and Catherine seem to hit it off in a faraway land, displaying a quick wit, communing on the same wavelength while trying to figure it out, bombarded by a language and culture they fail to understand, where furtive glances and long silences become the language of choice, dropping visual clues, exuding in the restraint of Rohmer’s CLAIRE’S KNEE (1970), where the mere suggestion of a touch resonates deeply.  Part of the beauty of the film is how it encapsulates the importance of all these fleeting moments that seem small, but are actually monumental, as we’re never immersed in the totality of their lives, but in the profound significance of this particular moment in this particular place, always accentuated by an incredible soundtrack that exists in perfect harmony, like subliminal messages accentuating interior themes, Lost in Translation - Soundtrack - Full Album (2003) YouTube (53:59).  With constantly shifting nocturnal images of the sleepless nights, they find themselves drinking sake and watching Fellini’s LA DOLCE VITA (1960) on television in Japanese, yet this also provides an opportunity to open up and share a personal moment together, shot with reflective glass images, offering a window into their souls in one of the most poignant and tender scenes, actually getting lost in each other, while still keeping a safe distance, Lost in Translation | Scarlett Johansson & Bill Murray's Sleepover Heart-to-Heart YouTube (7:41).  Dwarfed by the rapturous elegance of a spatial divide, it’s all about their tenuous relationship to that space, finding texture in architectural designs, gorgeous city landscapes, and bustling street activity, where there’s even an Olympic-size swimming pool surrounded by full-length windows, as the hotel room becomes a protective cocoon, emblematic of their subdued confinement within that space, surrounded by plush accommodations that only the rich can afford, and while this hits the mark in Coppola’s case, there’s a kind of wish-fulfillment aspect to this artificially created dreamscape, an imaginary tourist excursion that most of us can never afford, creating a kind of fantasyland for viewers.  Yet the emotional impact of the film is unmistakable, and completely accessible, built by a developing level of intimacy that feels authentic, where viewers are transported into the psychological depth of their experience, finding it intoxicating in many respects, each character obviously moved by the other, invested by the rush of emotions extending into the ambiguity of the finale, Lost in Translation, by Sofia Coppola - Ending scene (2003) (with Scarlett Johanson & Bill Murray) YouTube (5:16).  This is Sofia Coppola’s finest hour, buoyed by the magic of her understated, observational style and those endearing lead performances. 

Loneliness alone and surrounded by others (Lost In Translation)  wordless visual commentary from Frauke Cosemans set to the music of Air, YouTube (3:23)

Sofia Coppola Lost in Translation - The Directors Series  video analysis from Cameron Beyl, YouTube (13:12)

2022 Top Ten List #2 Tàr

 

Writer/director Todd Field

Field with Cate Blanchett

TÁR                A                                                                                                                        USA  (158 mi)  2022  ‘Scope  d: Todd Field

Appearing as a crooner in Woody’s Allen’s Radio Days (1987), starring with Ashley Judd in Victor Nuñez’s RUBY IN PARADISE (1993), while playing the blindfolded pianist in Stanley Kubrick’s EYES WIDE SHUT (1999), Field stopped acting and turned to directing in the early 90’s, receiving his Master of Fine Arts from the AFI Conservatory.  Only the third film by this director, premiering at the Sundance Festival with In the Bedroom (2001), separated by five years from Little Children (2006), which initially screened at the Telluride Festival, and the next is now 16 years later, each exploring spectacular human failings, moving in scope from the intimately personal first film, a potent study of guilt and grief, an ode to the futility of vengeance, to a tragic Madame Bovary variation with community-wide ramifications in the next, both adapted from previously existing sources, and finally enlarging the canvas to an epic scale in a full-blown, behind-the-scenes exploration of one of the premiere classical music conductors in the world, where one wonders if there is that much difference between conducting and directing?  Written with Cate Blanchett in mind, winner of the Best Actress award when it premiered at the Venice Film Festival, this larger than life story is the classical music equivalent of Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood (2007), as it revolves around a massive character study of Blanchett as Lydia Tàr, the esteemed, first-ever, female orchestra leader of the Berlin Philharmonic, fearlessly told through the artist’s perspective, intoxicated by the seemingly unlimited reach of her own power, ultimately undone by a fever dream of arrogance and ethical lapses, never making it easy on viewers, structured a bit like a symphony, with its long phrases and short outbursts, where the choice musical selections capture the emotional landscape of her character, becoming one of the more complex films of the year.  Offering razor sharp insights, one of the most visceral and gripping moments is a long and detailed bravado opening scene with a captivated New York audience that immediately lures audiences into a sophisticated and intelligent discussion of classical music through one of those up close and personal onstage interviews at a New Yorker festival Q & A with The New Yorker’s staff writer Adam Gopnik, where it’s easy to admire her expertise and passion.  Instantly elevating her personal appeal from listing all of her many accolades that have been carefully prepared, she is a musical prodigy, composer, patron of the arts with a doctorate from Harvard, founder of a scholarship program for young girls studying at the conservatory, and author of an upcoming book Tár on Tár, also a rare EGOT winner (an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony), the conductor of one of the world’s most distinguished orchestras, having recorded live performances on Deutsche Grammophon of the entire Mahler symphonic output except Symphony No. 5, which is scheduled in the near future, mentored by Leonard Bernstein, and like him she exhibits a talent for articulating the dramatic power of music, yet what distinguishes this scene is the clarity and eloquence of her answers, easily comprehensible, not over anyone’s heads, breaking it down in a way that makes it easier to appreciate a conductor’s role in affecting results, TÁR - "You Cannot Start Without Me" Official Clip - YouTube (48 seconds).  Near the end of the film there’s a video of Bernstein suggesting music can express what words cannot, which seems to be the core motivation for Lydia’s work.  Taking a somewhat literary approach, making a cerebral film offering plenty of thought-provoking ideas, seamlessly shifting between English, French, and German, it relies upon long takes and a precisely measured control, strangely opening with the end credits, showing gratitude, perhaps, for those often receiving little credit, referred to as Acknowledgements (needing a magnifying glass to read), which mysteriously excludes the principle actors (their credits are shown at the end).  A live camera phone from an unknown viewer finds the director asleep on a plane to New York wearing a blindfold, eliciting sarcastic comments written on social media, establishing she is a public figure subject to her own share of ridicule, describing herself as “a U-Haul lesbian,” yet she scoffs at the idea that women conductors need a special gender-specific title like maestra, “They don’t call astronauts astronettes.”  When we see her hold her own in a public forum, however, she is clearly a beloved figure, recognized not only for her musical talents but for her intellectual acumen.     

There are common threads running through Todd Field’s filmography, which not only illustrates his prodigious strengths as a screenwriter (Oscar nominated in each of his films), but also the centrality of extraordinary female figures, Sissy Spacek and Marisa Tomei from In the Bedroom, and Kate Winslet from Little Children, all awarded Oscar nominations, with the two films earning eight Academy Award nominations between them, where this film is not expected to be any different, featuring exemplary dialogue and fully realized characters, with Blanchett providing a towering performance that may arguably be the best in her career, focusing on her strong, confident, and controlling nature, talking over people, always having the last word, having indisputably reached the upper echelon of her profession, before stripping away at the façade and revealing a precipitous fall from grace, which may leave many viewers more than a little ambivalent about just how they feel, engaging in scandalous behavior normally associated with men.  Blanchett has in the past advocated for both Woody Allen and Roman Polanski, both saddled with glaringly public sex abuse allegations, which may add yet another layer of difficulty to the subject matter, becoming a monumental film of ominous implications, with a jagged puzzle piece editing scheme concocted by Michael Haneke’s editor Monika Willi, full of mysterious clues and no easy answers.  Offering some beautiful glimpses of Berlin, including the concert hall of rehearsals, something of an architectural marvel of modernism, yet above all this exposes the personal intrigues and ties between women, as Cate Blanchett gives life to an out of the ordinary woman who tends to challenge the conventions of conformism, making us appreciate her first and then making her ethically unbearable and hateful, evoking parallels between the narcissism and hypocrisy of Hollywood in Joseph L Mankiewicz’s ALL ABOUT EVE (1950), with the psychological intrigues that arise in the relationship between various generations of artists or aspiring artists.  Lydia Tár, as the orchestra conductor, assumes the Bette Davis role, the famous Broadway diva, surrounded by Anne Baxter as her youngest admirer aspiring to replace her, emulated by Francesca (Noémie Merlant), Tár’s tireless personal assistant who tends to her every whim while continually enduring being underestimated and ignored, yet would like to fill the assistant conductor position, joined by her life partner of ten years, Sharon (Nina Hoss), the stabilizing force in her life who is also the first violinist in the orchestra.  Together they live in Berlin and share an adopted Syrian daughter, Petra (Mila Bogojevic), in a spacious and luxury chic industrial apartment that always appears darkened and impersonal, yet one of the most intimate scenes shows them dancing together to the music of Count Basie, calming the nerves after a blisteringly intense day.  Tár has lunch with one of her sycophantic benefactors, Elliot Kaplan (Mark Strong), a wealthy man who she clearly does not respect, yet he funds her scholarship program, exerting a sense of ease and comfort in her role as they discuss the internal politics and interpersonal relationships of the orchestra, with plenty of gossip and social innuendos, always appearing so sure of herself, wielding a significant amount of responsibility and power, yet we also begin to see how easily dismissive she is about the opinions of others.  This is followed by a tour de force Julliard guest lecture exquisitely filmed by cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister in an unbroken ten-minute single take, expressing a fluidity of movement with Lydia circling around the classroom, while also capturing the immediacy of the moment, accentuating every uncomfortable word and gesture as the maestro openly challenges and humiliates a pansexual student, Max (Zethphan Smith-Gneist), identifying with the acronym BIPOC (The BIPOC Project, Black, Indigenous, and people of color), as he openly resists the music of Bach, claiming he was a white European misogynist, making it impossible to identify with him.  Lydia takes the bait and turns the argument back around on him, pointing out the absurdity of his position, hoping to distinguish between the artist and the man, as his genius has overcome any and all limitations, carving out an illustrious identity that will survive into eternity, repudiating his sentiment with the utter simplicity of an introductory Bach Prelude, Prelude and Fugue No. 1 in C major, BWV 846 ... - YouTube (5:18), yet her abrasive manner grows mockingly excessive and ruthlessly dismissive, becoming an exaggerated performance for the students, taking perverse pleasure in squeezing him like a bug, describing him as “an epicenic dissident” before informing him “The architect of your soul appears to be social media,” causing him to flee the classroom, calling her a “fucking bitch.” 

Despite the success of Lydia’s argument, the entire history of classical music has always been a monolithic representation of almost exclusively one race and one gender, and one need only recall that Wagner was an anti-Semite, while both Britten and Tchaikovsky had more than a passing interest in young boys, so this remains something of an open question in the modern world, subject to continual reevaluation.  The film even examines the forced denazification of acclaimed German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler, as he remained in Germany during the war as the head of the Berlin Philharmonic, though he never joined the Nazi party and had publicly opposed Hitler’s regime, also Austrian conductor Herbert von Karajan, who did join the Party and was a Nazi favorite, waiting in the wings to replace him while helping to promote the Nazi war propaganda, which so irritated Furtwängler that he refused to call him by his name.  One would be hard-pressed to name a single female conductor who has ever achieved anything like their international prominence, so this film innovatingly projects a post-feminist world that currently doesn’t exist, with Lydia having the distinct ability to distinguish out of tune instruments or off-note sounds in the orchestra, while also acutely sensitized to unrecognizable sounds around her, which play a significant role in the film, using sound in much the same way Antonioni experimented with photography in BLOW-UP (1966).  Blanchett’s performance is easily her most exhilarating since Todd Haynes’ masterfully understated 2015 Top Ten List #6 Carol, also starring Blanchett as a lesbian, or the boozy Manhattan socialite in Woody Allen’s 2013 Top Ten List #7 Blue Jasmine, essentially seen as a maestro moving between lecterns, rehearsals, scores, and auditions, actually conducting the Dresden Orchestra, seen several times rehearsing the Mahler 5th, a commanding piece, all-consuming and haunting, providing insight into Mahler’s personal and professional control over his wife Alma when writing the piece, demonstrating a tour de force in the art of interpretation, snapping at her orchestra to finally get “the Visconti” out of their heads, alluding to the film music for his 1971 film DEATH IN VENICE, where Adagietto excerpts were prominently featured, becoming an iconic association.  Ironically 1971 was also the same year opera diva Maria Callas taught master classes at Julliard, where one wonders if she was equally operatic in her classrooms.  The film questions what constitutes accountability in our world today, examining the power dynamics of her role, as power is essential for how she has built herself up into her position, a seemingly self-made artist, the embodiment of success, who views her work superseding any gender, suggesting one must sublimate their identity in the pursuit of their art, believing it’s not useful to look into who the artist is, or their past, gender, race, sexuality, behavior, or even their morals.  Yet this position conveniently covers up the fact it’s advantageous for her that people don’t see who she really is, becoming an exposé of modern artistic arrogance, where a manipulative person with an inflated view of power abuses that power to protect their image, doing questionable things, following the same trajectory that many men have traveled before, like having affairs with young students and musicians she’s particularly attracted to while rewarding them with special positions within the orchestra.  It’s apparent the orchestra knows this is what she’s doing, and that it’s a longstanding pattern of behavior, yet they keep silent out of fear of reprisals, as they could lose their positions.  At home, Lydia runs her home life as she does her orchestra, handling each issue as it presents itself, making sure her wife takes her medicine, while also taking care of her daughter’s problems.  She seems to be having difficulty writing an original piano piece entitled For Petra, but at least according to Sharon, her daughter is the only real relationship she has in her life.  One of the most chilling scenes comes early, with Lydia delivering her daughter to school, pointing out another girl in a red coat who’s apparently been bullying her.  Lydia approaches the child, changing the entire focus of the film by speaking to her in precise German, adding a certain urgency, quickly informing her “I am Petra’s father,” before issuing a veiled threat indicating there would be consequences.  Not exactly sure what that means, or why she shifted genders, but the imminent danger associated with the threat is astonishingly real, exposing a darker side of her that is carefully concealed, a stark contrast to how extremely image conscious she is, carefully controlling her public image, shrugging off any negative allegations, and may actually be editing her own Wikipedia page, though at one point she claims this is a sabotage against her character.  Her biggest nightmare may be for the hideousness of her character to come to light, as we get a glimpse of that through the texting from her assistant Francesca, adding her own revelatory comments on social media, revealing that Lydia’s not totally in control of her image, even though she believes that she is.   

Lydia is a distinctively outré gay woman who prefers a masculine style of dress in her everyday life, a dominating presence both at work and at home, yet is surprisingly at ease when discussing the history of women conductors, those who paved the way, acutely aware of the scant history of women in classical music, where the largesse of her ego is thoroughly on display.  Blanchett has the ability to make her cruelty so charismatic, yet she would love to overlook her own personal indiscretions, as much of her power comes from taking advantage of people’s affections, making promises, offering career enhancements, as she does for an aspiring young cellist who catches her eye, Olga Metkina (played by British/German cellist Sophie Kauer), a prodigious Russian talent inspired by Jacqueline du Pré, Jacqueline du Pre & Daniel Barenboim - Elgar Cello Concerto YouTube (32:38), becoming an object of desire, exerting an incredible fascination on the maestro from the very first second, taking her under her wing, offering special favors, allowing her the Elgar solo even before she’s admitted to the orchestra, as the secrets of her past start to spill into her present.  When things go wrong it’s represented by inexplicable or unwanted sounds, like hearing a woman’s cries while jogging in the park, or the ticking of a metronome at night, activities that are never explained, yet offer clues into her psychological deterioration.  The film is essentially a treatise on power, as she ultimately chooses power over art, which may be why the film opens with the end credits, revealing the names of all the people working behind the scenes who normally receive little recognition.  Such a prominent public figure can produce an all-consuming ego and sense of pride that can be self-centered and narcissistic, to the point of becoming cruel to those around her, leading to abuses in power in a world that doesn’t want to accept those practices anymore.  Slowly stripping her of her charisma, showing us a darker side, a selfish and cruel person who can also be fragile and insecure, Lydia has no qualms about disposing of people and their feelings, behaving like a dictator with her subordinates, routinely calling anyone robots if they dare disagree, displaying a surprising ease in bending the rules for her own benefit.  “It’s not a democracy,” she tells her daughter in one of the key scenes, as there is only one conductor, creating a parallel between the microcosm of the orchestra and power in contemporary society.  In the #MeToo era, all it takes is a misplaced word, an incorrect action, or an exposed abuse to lose one’s hold on power, with recent reminders like Metropolitan Opera conductor James Levine or Spanish opera singer and conductor Plácido Domingo, where it’s amazing how once glorious careers fade with changing views on sexual harassment, where Lydia becomes a mirror image, offering a fascinating and at times repulsive set of contradictions, as she can be charismatic and funny, but also ruthless and cruel, mocking her students while manifesting a cold exterior, exhibiting acute intellect while at the same time showing a cynical and inhumane side, openly disinterested in what her closest collaborators may think, simply dismissing them, where no one is immune to her abuse.  Much of the film is told in code, leaving little hints that must be extrapolated to be understood, like brief flashbacks, suggesting Lydia sabotaged and ruined the once promising career of Krista (Sylvia Flote, seen only in the beginning, blink and you’ll miss her), apparently coming too close, with subliminal sexual images suggesting she’s penetrated her private domain, sending obsessive and threatening email messages to Lydia, who quickly turns on her, calling her a rat and dismissing her from the orchestra, while sending emails to prospective employers that she’s not trustworthy and would have a corrosive impact overall.  In abuse cases with public figures, we don’t often have all the specific details, but just the allegations, so we never know what truly happened.  The same happens here, as in this instance, it’s not even clear if Lydia knows what she’s doing is wrong, as she may believe these are perks that come with the privilege of her position of power, instilling her with a near delusional sense of entitlement, with Lydia wondering where Twitter was when Schopenhauer threw some random old woman down a flight of stairs.  Yet seemingly overnight her image is tarnished, implicated in a very public suicide, with her career suddenly derailed and her chaotic life left in shambles, with angry protests following her wherever she goes, where the rapid fall from grace is quite literally stunning, as is the restrained manner of Field masterfully directing that descent, evoking chilling questions about what’s real and what’s imagined.  A film about art and obsession, Mahler’s 5th Symphony provides a link between this film and the inner decay underlying Visconti’s DEATH IN VENICE, slowly unraveling into a full-blown psychological thriller, centered around Lydia’s professional and emotional decay, as the music by Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir becomes more foreboding, creating a web-like trap where the walls are closing in on her, regressing into nameless ambiguity, coming full circle in an utter and complete transformation, with no possibility of redemption, ending with distinctly out-of-character electronic music at the end, at the opposite end of the spectrum from the classical symphonies that once defined her career.  A film that invites reflection.        

Cate Blanchett and Todd Field's Closet Picks! - YouTube   picks from the Criterion closet (5:25)